


Third time's the charm

by rivers_bend



Series: ask box fic [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Boys Kissing, Friends With Benefits, Kissing, M/M, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:54:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1243579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zayn and Harry and hotel room kisses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Third time's the charm

**Author's Note:**

> The Obvious: I do not know any of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply any of this happened.

Zayn was going to sleep on the bus with Louis, Liam, and Niall, but someone—no one will admit it, but Niall turned the reddest—left a can of root beer in the freezer and it exploded in Zayn’s face, then Louis thought it would be helpful to mop him up with tissues, and now he’s freezing, stickier than he’s ever been in his life, and covered in bits of fluff besides. He wants a shower, and a bath, and possibly another shower. And maybe a break from Liam saying, “I’m sorry, but your _face_ when it exploded, mate…” He packs a bag with change of clothes, his phone, his book, and his DS, and grabs one of the keys Paul left in a little envelope in case any of them wanted a room. 

An hour later he smells of rosemary and mint with a hint of lemon, and there’s not so much as a trace of tissue in his hair, and it’s nice. Peaceful. Quiet. Maybe a bit boring, though. He doesn’t fancy reading, or playing video games, and it’s too early in the UK to ring his mum. The bus is probably still a hub of chaos, and he’s not _that_ bored, just a bit restless. Itchy under the skin. He turns on the TV. 

A couple is looking at a house somewhere tropical. The man looks quite boring, all plain polo shirt and khaki trous, business haircut, but his wife? girlfriend? has four different shades of purple in her hair and almost all the skin bared by her tiny vest top is covered with bright tattoos. They look like they’re from different planets, and it’s fascinating to watch them argue over whether or not the view is worth the small bedrooms.

They’re just walking down the drive of the second house when someone knocks on Zayn’s door. There are only about five people it could be, so Zayn answers it in his t-shirt and boxers. It’s Harry. He’s wearing nothing but a bathing suit and a towel turban. “Third time’s the charm,” Harry says in greeting. “Can I come in, or would you rather I go away?”

Zayn steps aside so Harry can come through. Harry’s good for TV watching, and for cuddling. Seeing him makes Zayn realize that’s what he’s been itching for. Cuddles. “Been swimming?” Zayn asks. His suit was dry when he brushed past Zayn’s arm, so maybe Harry’s been in the shower, and his swimsuit was the closest thing that would allow him to wander the hotel halls and not get arrested for indecent exposure. Or at least not cause the security to admonish him—again—to put some damn clothes on.

"Yeah." Harry does a little shiver and dives for the bed, crawling under the covers. "Lou and I were doing laps earlier. Tom said he saw you come inside, so I thought I’d come find you. See if you wanted company. Paul gave me a list of possible room numbers." 

He’s ridiculous, all big eyes peering out between the towel and the bed clothes, and Zayn can’t help smiling at him. “Was just thinking ‘twas a bit boring up here on my own, so you’ve good timing.” He’d been happy on top of the covers, but he’s not overheated from his bath anymore, so he crawls under to join Harry. “We can change the channel if you want. Was just—this girl’s hair is wild.” 

"Nice tattoos, too," Harry says, looping his arm through Zayn’s and scooting against his side. 

They sit like that for a while, watching a blonde woman try to sell the couple on a house with a view of nothing but trees, but a massive master bedroom, then Harry gets restless and starts fiddling with his turban. 

"C’mere," Zayn says, turning Harry so his back’s to him and he can untuck it without pulling his hair, then unwinding it and vigorously scrubbing at Harry’s head through the towel. 

"MMmmMMmmMMmmMM," Harry says. It sounds like he’s in a car bumping along railroad tracks, the way he’s letting Zayn flop his head around. 

"You do have neck muscles," Zayn points out.

"I know," Harry says, but when Zayn balls up the towel and throws it toward the bathroom, Harry lets his head flop back on Zayn’s shoulder, belying his belief in the statement. 

"You’re getting my shirt wet," Zayn says, even though he can’t really feel anything. Harry’s neck is all long and tan, his shoulders bare and broad, and his bird tattoos are perched on the edge of the sheet falling down around his chest. 

"You just dried my hair," he says. He twists enough to rub his nose along Zayn’s jaw. It feels good, and Zayn finds his arms slipping around Harry’s chest. It’s not great for either of them being able to see the telly, but it’s a good cuddle. 

Orrr, maybe grope. Harry laces his fingers with Zayn’s and sets Zayn’s palm rubbing across his belly. “Do you care which house they get?” Harry murmurs into Zayn’s throat.

"No." Zayn really doesn’t. He frees one hand so he can cup Harry’s jaw, move him enough to get to his lips. "Do you?" he checks, but Harry doesn’t answer, just meets him half way for a kiss. 

It’s warm and soft kissing Harry, at least tonight, neither of them desperate, no booze to make them sloppy. Just their lips moving together, their tongues touching, hands slipping gentle over each other’s skin. Harry turns, pulls Zayn down until they’re lying on the bed, Harry mostly on his back, Zayn mostly on top of him, their bare legs tangling and their stomachs a bit sticky with sweat where Zayn’s shirt’s riding up. 

The TV babbles in the background, but Zayn can hear Harry’s breathing over it, and even the shush-sharuush of the sheet as they move underneath it is louder in Zayn’s ears. Harry’s stroking his spine, Zayn’s got both hands buried in Harry’s hair—which is hardly even damp—and Zayn keeps finding himself smiling into their kiss, because this is so exactly what he needed tonight.

"You’re lovely," Harry says after a while, when Zayn’s stopped sucking on his tongue and has moved down to pepper kisses along the soft skin of his cheek.

"No, you," Zayn argues, though he is lovely, and Harry’s loveliness doesn’t mitigate that fact. He just likes Harry’s smile when he argues back:

"No, _you_ ," and gives Zayn’s waist a squeeze. 

"No, both of us," Zayn replies, nuzzling his face into Harry’s neck. It’s comfy there, with Harry’s arms around him, his bare chest under Zayn’s palm. "You gonna sleep here?" Zayn asks. Sometimes Harry snores, but the cuddles are worth it. 

"Yeah," Harry says. He puts a hand out of the covers and mutters, "Accio remote." Shockingly, nothing happens. 

"You aren’t a wizard, Harry," Zayn intones in his best Hagrid voice. 

"Saddest day of my life, I never got a Hogwarts letter," Harry says. 

Zayn sits up enough to hit the power button where the remote’s on the bedside table. “You are in the biggest boyband in the world, though,” he points out. “That has to ease the sting a bit?” 

Harry shrugs, giving Zayn one of his soft smiles. “A bit,” he says. “But still, you could kiss it, make it better?” 

With an extra stretch, Zayn turns off the light as well, then settles back in Harry’s arms. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, and does as Harry asked.


End file.
